Wednesday, December 10, 2008

Seriously, Why Am I Up?

I was recently sent a message by a reader. For security's sake, I'll call her Marina (Can you see me winking at you, Marina? Because no one knows that's actually your real name).

Marina was kind enough to let me know that she agreed with my random thought the other day, vis-a-vis iTunes updating more than the fucking weather channel.

I appreciated this for two main reasons:

1 - It means I'm relating to people. Or at least one person. I'm an optimist that way.

2 - It also means that at least one other person than me reads this. That means a correction is in order:

When I said I was singing along to "Power Of Love" by Celine Dion, that was a typo. I meant to say "Tipsy" by J-Kwon (Shit yeah, that was a close one!).

Chuck - also not Chuck's real name - sent me this job listing link tonight. (click to enlarge)

I told her to apply and I'd pay her $50 just to see what it was. Perhaps it will pay for whatever medicine is needed to cure whatever one would catch at an all-male naked workout party.

Pumping iron, indeed.

Speaking of pumping, these guys were pumping up the jam in the Spadina subway station the other day. I think they were just rocking out while they waited for the subway, to the surprise and delight of everyone who wasn't deaf. Whoever you dudes are, you made my day.

(trumpet, guitar, sax and flute.)

Speaking of deaf people, I was waiting at the IKEA return department with a friend recently. An absolute joy that no one should go without experiencing. If you haven't been, I highly suggest you deliberately damage your POÅNG ottoman so you have an excuse to go.

They have numbers that show which customer is next, and the tellers also yell out the numbers. But sometimes there are some geniuses who think, "Shit, I can sneak down to the cafeteria and get the $2.50 hot dog and drink combo and get back before they call my number."

And they're dead wrong. Because it takes about three seconds for them to call a number and skip right on to the next number. If you're not alert for that, you can forget it.

But they also have these random containers of parts behind the counter.

I'm pretty sure they just hand one to everybody and this somehow fixes their furniture. "Here you go, sir. Everything from IKEA fits on everything else from IKEA."


In Soviet Russia, watermelon eats you!